


Rush

by stargazercmc



Category: General Hospital
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-04
Updated: 2008-12-04
Packaged: 2017-10-07 05:32:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargazercmc/pseuds/stargazercmc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was going, well, strangely. For both of them, Monica imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rush

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short character study from Monica's POV - I wanted to see a somewhat serious conversation between the women concerning Tracy's predicament with Luke. Set sometime between Nov. 21 and Dec. 3's eps (2008).

Monica tugged her coat closer to her as she examined the stubs on the rose bushes. The gardener had been here already to trim the bushes back for the winter, but Monica checked the work to make sure it was thorough. _Wouldn't be spring without Lila's mark on the grounds_, she thought. Lila never left her work solely to the gardeners, and Monica thought it brought her a bit nearer by following in her footsteps.

Satisfied with the job, she sat on the stone bench nearest the house looking out over the grounds and shook out the wool blanket she had lain there earlier. As she watched the sky fade into darkness, she ticked off another day of survival. The urge to drink was always there in the background, but she staved it off by thinking of the cost to the legacy of her loved ones.

"Alan, you never told me that I'd have to do this living thing on my own," she said as she tucked the blanket around her. The crisp breeze, whistling in response, was offset by the sound of steps on the walkway.

"What, are you seeing him now, too?" Tracy said.

Monica was surprised to note the lack of sting in Tracy's tone. Instead, her strong-willed sister-in-law just sounded… tired. Maybe some benevolence was in order. Taking her cue from Tracy, Monica moved to the edge of the bench and patted the seat beside her. "Get tired of terrorizing Alice?"

Tracy looked at Monica skeptically and sat down beside her. She folded her arms at her chest. "You should have fired her a long time ago. Damn woman thinks _she_ owns the place." Tracy shivered a bit as the wind picked up.

"Your brother used to tell me the same thing, you know." Monica offered Tracy a part of the blanket, and after another sideways glance, Tracy accepted. This was going, well, strangely. For both of them, Monica imagined.

_What the hell_, she thought. "Tracy, I know that we don't even like each other much, but-"

"If this is about Luke," Tracy said, "you can stop now. I'm irritable enough without talking about my reprobate of a 'husband.' And I use that term, oh, so loosely." There was a spark of anger there, Monica noted, but mostly Tracy sounded resigned. This didn't fare well for Luke's future massage plans.

"Fair enough," said Monica. She couldn't blame Tracy for her anger and exhaustion. How many times had Monica and Alan been in this position, hurting each other with their affairs and slicing each other to shreds with words? _So much wasted time_, she thought. "For what it's worth, though," Monica braved, "I've known Luke for a very long time. And I think he's sincere when he says he wants to be with you."

"Since when did you become the champion for Luke Spencer, Monica?" Tracy's tone was kicking up some spirit now. "You don't even _like_ the guy."

"Laura's an old friend, Tracy, and a good woman. She wouldn't have married the guy if he didn't have _some_ redeeming qualities," said Monica.

"Laura," said Tracy. "Always the sainted Laura."

"That's not what I meant," said Monica. "And knowing Laura as long as I have, I can tell you in no uncertain terms that the woman has never been a saint." Monica thought back on the many times she saw Lesley frantic with worry while her daughter was off running from mobsters. "It was her choices that made Scott Baldwin the idiotic mass of self-doubt he is today."

"You talk about all your old friends like this?" said Tracy.

"I didn't say she was a bad woman, Tracy. Just human."

"An _angel_, you mean." Tracy tugged the blanket out from under Monica and covered a bit more of herself. Turning to face her sister-in-law, Monica caught an unguarded expression of despair in Tracy's features before a mask of irritation slipped back in place.

"Tracy," Monica said, "Luke is here. He's not in Paris. He's _here_."

"I know," said Tracy. "It wasn't his choice." Monica sighed. _So much like Alan in so many ways_, she thought.

"You really believe that?" said Monica. "Because the Luke Spencer I know wouldn't let a little thing like permission keep him from someplace he wanted to be." The breeze rustled the bare tree limbs together as if to emphasize her point. Monica almost laughed before she realized that Tracy had yet to reply.

When Tracy finally _did_ speak, Monica had to lean forward to hear her voice. "I can't keep doing this, Monica. He's made a fool of me too many times."

The wind carried to their spot again, and Monica got up. The older she became, the less she was able to tolerate a full-on New York winter. She handed Tracy the remainder of the blanket. "Tracy," she said. "You asked me earlier if I could see Alan."

Tracy looked at her, surprised by the abrupt topic change. She pushed a strand of hair back from her face and waited.

"I don't," Monica continued. "Or can't. Whatever. What I can tell you is this: there's not one single day that passes where I don't wish that I could see him. Wish I could spend one more day with him, tell him how much I love him and how much a part of me he is. Not one day passes that I'm not jealous of your time with him, no matter how delusional it may be." Monica walked the short steps to the peace rose bush in front of them.

Tracy didn't respond. "My point is, Tracy, that Luke is _here_," said Monica. She reached over to the trimmed rose beds and held a stem in her hands, touching one of the thorns without letting it stick her. She thought of Dawn, of A.J., of Emily, of her dearest Alan.

Tracy's reply was quiet but firm. "Monica, I don't know how to trust him. How do I get around that?"

"I don't know." Monica glanced back. Tracy was looking at her with a thoughtful, cautious expression. "But as someone who knows a little something about loss, take my advice," she said. "Don't wait too late."

And as Monica walked the path back to warmth, Tracy wrapped the blanket tighter around herself and watched the stars rise.


End file.
